Butterfly Dreaming
by Little Tanuki
Summary: At the age of seven, Jules Bashir makes a new friend, but she has a secret too.
1. Julian's Dream

**Deep Space Nine, 2376**

"Stop. What are you doing? Get off her. You're hurting… _Leave her alone_."

With a gasp, Julian opened his eyes.

For a moment he imagined that he was still a child, that he had never seen this room, this bed, these sloping grey walls. Then he remembered. These were his quarters. This was his bed. He was still on the station, a grown man, and there was Ezri at his side.

She was wide awake, watching. Her brow tensed with concern as she touched his face. To his surprise, he flinched.

"It's all right, Julian," she whispered. This time he didn't shy away from her touch. "Just a bad dream, that's all."

She kissed his cheek, and continued to watch, but didn't say a word as he sat up and half rolled out of bed. Feeling unusually heavy, he padded over to the replicator and ordered a large kava juice and… "Anything?" he asked. Ezri shook her head.

As his drink materialised into existence, he leant against the wall with one arm outstretched, and focused on the steady rise and fall of his chest. He felt haggard, breathing far more deeply than he did on most mornings, and sensed his own pulse gain speed at the base of his neck.

Drink, insisted a voice from his distant memory. Downing the entire glass, he reflected how glad he was that Ezri had asked him nothing so far about his dream. But he knew that she was there, silently anticipating the moment when he would open his mouth and begin to speak.

The drink flowed into his tired and aching muscles, and he closed his eyes with a tight frown. The Federation had fought a war, and won. All over the Quadrant, exhausted soldiers were busy gathering up the remaining pieces of their lives. Was it any wonder that old ghosts were finally catching up with them?

And yet… "I never expected to remember her," he said, rubbing his eyes with a thumb and forefinger.

"Who?" came Ezri's voice from behind him.

Julian turned to where she sat with the sheets gathered in a tangled pyramid against her chest. He swallowed, as though to remind himself that he still had a voice.

"Amy."

* * *

**London, 2348**

Gems of wet dew clung sparkling to every blade of grass. It was a cold night, without a strong wind, but even what little breeze ambled past was stiff enough to chill the bones. Brushing against barely seen wet branches, the boy shivered, wrapping slender arms across his chest. Somewhere far away, an owl moaned.

And from the opposite direction came a long, high pitched scream.

The boy raced forward, still keeping to the cover of the surrounding trees. The fog was heavy, even for this time of morning, but he still thought - _believed _- that he was seeing three distant, moonlit shapes at the other end of the oval. _It's not too late_, he told himself, frustrated that his legs could not move faster over the grass and around the empty school yard. Fog-touched air burned in his lungs. _You can still save her_.

One of the larger shapes shook the smallest. The boy heard a cry, and the harsh sound of somebody whispering. Anger rose inside him as he clenched his fists, tears of fury welling in his eyes.

_They're hurting her_! Jules Bashir's thoughts cried out to him. _Stop it. Leave her alone_!


	2. The First Day

**2348, Three Days Earlier**

The largest of three boys turned, narrowing his small, dark eyes. "_What_?"

Jules Bashir did his best to keep his voice from quaking. "Leave her alone."

"Yeah? What're you gonna do if I don't?"

He suddenly realised, he hadn't even thought that far ahead. He'd experienced this scene before. It was eerily similar to some of the memories he carried of his last school. He'd always been the small one - quiet and scrawny, with perpetually timid hazel eyes.

And there were boys like Kurt Dobbin everywhere, boys who could pick out easy victims just as if someone had fitted them with targeting sensors.

Some things never changed.

The girl watched him too. She was small and pale, and almost as thin as he was. Her hair had been gathered into plaits on either side of her head, and a sprinkling of tiny freckles dotted the bridge of her nose.

And she was crying, deep blue eyes stained aquamarine by a fresh film of tears. As the boys lost interest in her, she trudged over to where Kurt Dobbin had dropped her school bag onto the dry dirt path. She picked it up, hugged it to her chest, and watched in terrified silence as her tormentors now advanced on Jules.

One of them pushed him in the chest. He staggered backwards, but quickly regained his balance and never took his eyes away. Cold anger coursed through his system, so much that he trembled, and whatever instinct held him there was too powerful to ignore.

He was small for his age, he knew that. But he was also deceptively wiry and had grown taller and stronger since his return to Earth - from that hospital where the aliens had been.

"Well?" Now it was Kurt's turn to push him roughly back. "Who's smart now, New Boy?"

Jules said nothing, clenching his jaw and offering no more than a cold, level stare.

With a frustrated war cry, Kurt retaliated. The smaller boy was twisted around, one arm pulled up his back almost to the level of his shoulder blades. Pain shot like a knife into his joints, and he struggled to hold back a scream.

"So, you think you're better'n us, eh?" Kurt hissed in his ear. "You know what happens to newboy snobs round here? Don't you?"

At the edge of Jules' vision, the girl still watched him mutely. He tried not to show the pain in his eyes.

"Tell you what," the bully continued, tightening his grip. "Let's do a little test. Find out how smart you really are."

One of his cohorts snickered, evidently quite taken with the idea.

"It goes like this," snarled Kurt. "You say, 'I'm a scrawny newboy turd,' and I won't rip your arm out."

"No," Jules managed to groan through clenched teeth. The corners of his eyes were moist with tears.

His hand jerked even further up his back. This time he did cry out. Then, without quite knowing how, he suddenly discovered that he was spinning lithely from his captor's grip. Heart racing, he jerked free. Both his hands clenched into tight fists.

Kurt was off balance, already stumbling as Jules charged forward, folded into the perfect position for a low tackle.

* * *

"A fight," his father growled. "On your first day."

Jules sat on one side of the oversized sofa and glowered at his feet. His mother watched him from the other end while his father - a smallish, rotund man whose dark hair was already greying a little at the edges - loomed from in front.

The rebellious silence only seemed to fuel Richard Bashir's anger. "How many times, Jules? You were lucky this time, but you can't keep on drawing attention to yourself. Not on your first day."

Scowling, the boy looked up. "Why?"

Jules' father blinked, seeming to catch himself for a moment. This time it was his mother who spoke. She continued to stare at him with unbearably wide, sad eyes.

"It's for your own good, Jules," she said. He bristled, wishing that she would - just once - get properly angry.

"We're only doing what's best for you," his father added.

"Are not!" shouted Jules, leaping from the seat.

Dodging past them both, he stumbled into the front garden and ran almost to the fence before stopping. He kicked a stone lying in his path, and listened to the series of satisfying crashes as it bounced onto the pavement. He slammed the grass with the toe of his shoe, and beat at the fence with his hands.

The gate was not locked, he noticed. He could get out at any time. But if that was true, he raged at the world, why was he still so trapped?

He hadn't minded his old school. Not really. Certainly, some of the other children had cruel things to say, especially to the slowest in the class. But he'd grown out of that, hadn't he? And even before, there'd been Ali - as eager to protect the uncertain, tiny Jules Bashir as Jules had been to protect the girl.

And in the evening, there was a special place on the roof of his father's apartment, where he could scramble into the open and gaze up at the night-time sky. Few stars were visible with the lights of a big city.

Someone was watching him. Panting heavily from his earlier outburst, he turned, and saw the same skinny girl who he'd just rescued from Kurt Dobbin and his gang. She stood on the road, staring, never blinking, as a soft breeze toyed with her straight but slightly tangled hair.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi." Jules' heart had not stopped racing, but he could not think of a better reply.

"I'm Amy," she told him.

"Jules."

"I know."

He stood by the gate, feeling awkward, and for a long time there was silence. Then Amy took a nervous step forward. He saw that there was dust on her cheeks, and that she had also stopped crying.

Suddenly aware that tears of anger had spilled from his own eyes, he wiped them away, scowling. He wondered whether Mother or Father was watching them through the front windows, but he knew that he couldn't return indoors. Not yet.

The breeze was cool against the bare skin of his arms and legs. "Wanna come to the park with me?" asked Amy, her voice so soft it was almost a mumble.

Jules worried briefly that his father might object, but then decided that he didn't really care. He shrugged. "Alright."


	3. Queen of the Butterflies

_My Journal. By Jules B._

_There are many new words in the world. But today I found one that was so particular - in one of Miss Tolok's old books._

"_Paranoia". Maybe that's what's wrong with Father, what makes him worry. Or maybe what makes him worry really is me. Either way, I wish he wouldn't._

_Because whatever was wrong with me before they took me to the hospital, I don't think it's coming back._

* * *

There was a hunchbacked old oak at the corner of the park. Its trunk was bent low, with thick, outgoing branches, and every leaf a radiant shade of golden green. Amy led the way down the slope towards it, to where a furrow in the ground marked what might occasionally have been a shallow creek.

"This is the best spot," said Amy. Her hands and feet traced a well-practised path up the knotted trunk.

The bark scraped the surface of Jules' shins as he shimmied along the lowest branch. Amy was crouched at the far end, hands hooked around the one above. "Look there," she said, and pointed.

He looked. Dangling from the base of the broadest leaf was a hard, organic case. "It's a chrysalis."

Amy stared. "A what?"

"A cacoon." He didn't know what fascinated him more, the tiny wood-brown pupa, or the way it swayed as the branching twigs were captured by the breeze. His fingers brushed against it, and it swung like a pendulum in response.

"It's a caterpillar when it's half butterfly." He discovered to his surprise that he was still talking. But his mind was so full of racing thoughts, he could not help but give them some escape. There were so many things to say, he doubted that he would ever have time to say them even if he lived to be as old as the oldest Vulcan.

He stared at the shallow grooves along its surface, almost like the marks of some sculptor's hand. "They eat and eat and eat," he continued. "Until they're big enough to make one of these. And they only live for a week after they escape. That's only a week to fly around and see the world and have caterpillars of their own. Before that, they're just stuck to the same old tree."

Amy reached forward and clasped the chrysalis between her thumb and forefinger.

"What are you _doing_?" squealed Jules.

"If we take it with us, we can see when it hatches." Withdrawing her hand, Amy's expression changed when she noticed her new friend's face.

"Don't," he insisted. "Please."

They slipped into silence.

"You like it here?" Amy asked eventually.

Jules stared for a moment, as though gathering his thoughts. "London?"

"No. Here. This park."

He shrugged, looking out over the block, to where the edge of their park was lined with buildings. "Sure."

"I got an idea," said Amy. Clasping the branch above her, she hoisted herself upright and allowed herself to sway a little - just like the butterfly cacoon. "Let's come here every day. I'll be Queen of the Butterflies. And you can be King, if you want."

A timid smile played at the corner of her mouth. She was often quiet, he noticed, watching him with her shady blue eyes. And with still more surprise, Jules Bashir realised that he was returning her smile.

"All right," he said. "And this is our palace."

"There you are."

Both children looked down, and Amy's smile was quick to disappear.

"Well, Amy?" said the voice. "Don't you have anything to say for yourself?"

"Hi, Dad," she muttered.

The man watched them through the branches, from a bare patch of ground where the grass had been long since scuffed away. His eyes were shaded by heavy brows, but a light reflected brightly from the mirror of his forehead, where time and age had thinned much of his hair.

He glanced at Jules, who stared back, frowning slightly. But before he said a word, his attention quickly returned to the slender young girl. "You know the rules," he scolded her. "Next time, come straight home."

"Sorry." Dropping to the ground, Amy took his hand and cast a mournful glance at the tree behind her. "Bye," she called softly as her father led her away.

Jules waited a few more moments before he too landed on the grass beside their tree's tangled roots. And realised then that the troubled frown had still not left his face. He wondered cryptically where lost smiles went to once they were gone.

And even once he'd started walking, he failed to shake the feeling of something cold and predatory waiting at his back. Turning around, he spotted something move in the distance. But whatever it was soon resolved itself into the shadow of shifting trees.


	4. The Man who was Green

"You and me, Turd," whispered Kurt. He shoved Jules aside on his way through the classroom door. "One day soon I'm gonna pound your skinny butt."

His face loomed in Jules' memory like a pale warning, long after the older boy had passed him by. The shade of a bruise that had clouded his cheek on the previous afternoon was gone.

But as he made his way to the far end of the room, Jules had been distracted by far pleasanter thoughts.

Amy's last name was Tanner, he discovered from a covert glance at the class roll. She was seven like him. They'd come within a week of sharing the same birthday. And he was already drinking in whatever information he could find about her, like a thirsty desert wanderer who'd just found himself at the edge of a lake.

This morning, her hair was loose and wild around her round, dusty face. Jules smiled, and opened his mouth to offer a greeting. But she didn't look up as he wriggled into the empty place beside her, and hunched her shoulders as if to shield herself.

…As if to shield herself from him.

* * *

Given that she was the only Vulcan teacher in their school - maybe even in the whole world, Jules reflected upon occasion - Miss Tolok was remarkably patient with the two dozen rowdy, contrary, and occasionally even hysterical Human children who'd been entrusted to her daily care.

Her calm, wide-set eyes were even darker than Jules' mother's, and her naturally angular cheekbones were made still more pronounced by the even cut of her straight black hair. The one "human" weakness she allowed herself, as far as her class could tell, was the slightest hint of rouge upon her cheeks, soft pink lipstick, and a touch of mascara along her lashes.

"Julian Bashir," she said at the close of the day, her deep, level tones catching the boy's attention.

"Yes, Miss?"

"Stay behind."

Jules had felt the cold dread of anticipation almost the instant she spoke. His legs froze under the force of his teacher's emotionless scrutiny, and he watched, eyes wide, as the other children filed through the exit. Several of them broke into a run as soon as they were clear of the door.

Last to walk out was Amy, but she barely even glanced behind her.

Once they were alone, Miss Tolok finally broke the silence. "I have been informed that you fought Kurt Dobbin."

_He started it_, Jules wanted to protest. The room was quiet, except for the soft tick, tick of an old fashioned clock hanging two thirds of the way up the front wall. Even the near constant murmur of computer conversation had ceased for the night.

Jules wished that he could run. He imagined that he was back at the park, or on his way home, or even at the farthest frontier of the galaxy. _Anywhere_, but in this room. Instead, he just said, "How'd you know?"

"That is not relevant," Miss Tolok scolded. But when her tone changed again, Jules thought he even heard a subtle trace of pity in her voice. "Is there something you wish to tell me, Julian?"

"No."

"No?"

"No, Miss Tolok."

"You are certain?"

"Yes, Miss."

Studying him with impossible calm, she narrowed her eyes. Jules met her gaze and tried his best not to squirm.

Miss Tolok paused for a moment, but then returned to her desk and began to gather a stack of padds into an immaculately even pile. "Very well," she said. "You may leave. Just try not to start any more fights."

_But I didn't start it_, Jules fumed. _And why didn't she keep Kurt back as well_

But instead of commenting, he tossed his school bag over one shoulder, impatient to free himself from the heavy atmosphere of the classroom.

* * *

There was a man waiting beside the school gate. An alien, Jules knew in an instant by the bright green hue of his skin.

A timid glance all around him confirmed his suspicions. With the rest of the children gone, even teachers could not be around to watch his journey across the front courtyard.

He skirted away from the alien, who stepped forward as he passed. "Hey kid. You wouldn't have the time now, would you?"

Jules shook his head and continued to walk away. He realised a second later that he'd just told a lie, and if anyone found out then he might be in a lot of trouble. Telling lies - even to a stranger - was wrong. But it was better than talking to one. And from the first moments he'd been unable to shake away the ripples of anxiety that were already threading their way along the nerves of his back.

"Sure?" the man called after him. "I really need to know."

"Then ask your computer!" Jules shouted over his shoulder. He quickened his pace.

"I haven't got one."

Jules stopped, and turned around, careful to keep a safe distance. That couldn't be the truth. _Everyone _had a computer, didn't they? Else how could they talk to each other? Or replicate their supper? Or tell the time?

"What's your name?" the old man asked.

The boy was silent. He was feeling a little dizzy, and realised only then that he'd been holding his breath. The stranger began a direct approach towards him. "Is something the matter?"

"It's Sixteen Hundred hours!" Jules shouted, and ran.


	5. Parents

Soaked in sweat, his chest burning, Jules did not stop or even slow until he was safely through the front door of his home. With the soft whoosh of it sliding closed behind him, he leant against the nearest wall and waited for his breath to return.

Sounds from the living room reached his ears, triggering a fresh wave of anxiety. His parents were not quite shouting, although from the tension in their voices they might as well have been.

"This was never going to be an immediate solution." That was Mother, as pleading as ever. "Just, try not to be so hard on him."

Father's reply had easily doubled in volume by the time he'd reached the end. "No. This is too important for him not to understand, and far too important to throw it all away. And with everything we're risking here, you'd think…"

"But he _doesn't_ understand," insisted Mother. "Remember, this was our choice not to say anything. And whatever else we think, he's still a boy."

"Amsha…"

"Our boy," his mother interrupted. "I know you're scared, Richard."

"You're damn right I'm scared." This time, Father's voice had dropped to a low hiss. Quietly, without a word, Jules tiptoed through the door to the living room.

Both parents noticed him instantly, their dark eyes round with shock. His mother gasped. Turning away, his father took some time to rub the tension from his face. And - Jules wondered briefly - had there also been a flash of guilt somewhere beneath the surface of his eyes?

His mother approached him. "Hello, Jules. How was school?"

She wrapped him in a loose embrace, but he resisted and wriggled free. He stood in the doorway, waiting for either one of them to react. But all they offered was still more silence.

"I got homework."

He'd had his fill of long and awkward stares. Jules turned, shoulders hunched, and trudged out of the room.


	6. Truth or Dare

_I've done all my work for today, so Miss Tolok says I can write my journal instead._

_At lunch I almost had to tell Amy my special secret, even though I promised my father that I would not say a word. It makes me wonder if I can ever keep my promises._

* * *

**One month earlier**

It had gone like this.

"Where's Kuka?" Jules whispered, stretched out on a biobed more than twice his size. His cheeks were wet. He had been crying, not with sadness, or pain, although a great part of the experience had hurt. And he knew that it would hurt again tomorrow.

This time, his tears were those of fear.

Richard Bashir placed the stuffed bear Kukalaka into the hands of his son, who held on so tightly that his knuckles ached. "You're a brave boy," said the doctor, standing just a few more steps away. The doctor was so pale that a branching network of ink-blue veins was visible beneath his skin. But his eyes were dark, and a milky third eyelid occasionally flashed across their surface. Jules swallowed hard. Brave boys did not cry.

"I have to talk to the doctor for a while," said Father, resting a comforting hand at the top of his boy's head. "Will you be all right?"

The child nodded, although with the heart-clenching terror that he'd felt ever since they'd first taken him to that room at the end of the corridor, he was far from certain that he would ever be all right again.

* * *

Jules was secretly careful to keep within sight of at least one teacher, in case Kurt or any of his friends should show up with thoughts of vengeance. Lingering on the edge of the school yard, he watched a group of older children dash around in a wild game of tag, as if he was a monkey watching out for leopards.

"Truth or dare," said a voice at his side.

He looked around to see Amy settle beside him. "What?"

"It's a game. Truth or dare. Choose one."

_How about truth_? "I thought you weren't my friend any more."

"Dad says I'm not supposed to talk to people," she replied, curling the fabric of her dress between her fingers, tugging, plucking, creasing, and finally allowing it to settle around her legs. Her freckled cheeks were even more pronounced in the light of midday, and Jules wondered if she was aware of how her lips curled inward whenever she was concentrating hard. "I'm not supposed to talk to people, so I'm not supposed to talk to you."

"But you _are_ talking to me."

"That's 'cos I don't care what he says."

Suddenly, her face snapped back up towards him. "Now it's your turn. I told you a truth, so you have to tell me one."

Jules squirmed. "_Have_ to?"

"If you don't, you forfeit. And that means I make you eat worms. Real worms, not replicated. With the dirt still on them."

The thought of eating worms made him queasy. "Okay," he said after a while.

Amy paused, frowning as though in deep contemplation. But then she looked up again, and there was resolution in her eyes. "Where's your favourite place in the universe?"

"Don't know," said Jules. "I haven't been there yet."

"Well, where do you wanna go?"

"Up there." Smiling quietly, Jules watched the clouds move across an endless sky. He'd known ever since he'd first started pulling out everything he could find about space travel. Whatever limit there seemed to be was only colour and atmosphere. Above the blue, there were stars. Thousands of stars, and they'd been beckoning to him for as long as he could remember.

Amy was quiet for a moment. Then she grabbed a stick and began to scrape it along the ground. "Have you ever been away from Earth?" she inquired.

"Uh huh." He nodded. "Space is huge. And dark. And some of the aliens are even stranger than Miss Tolok. There were so many of them last time when…"

He stopped, suddenly guarded, and plucked some of the grass around his feet. It dropped back to the ground in scattered piles. Amy studied him closely with her pale blue eyes. Then, just as suddenly, she shot forward on her hands and knees. Jules felt a rush of warmth as her lips brushed against his cheek. He sat bolt upright and stared, blinking, opening and closing his mouth like a stranded fish and barely able to make a sound.

The girl no longer watched him. But he could see that beneath her tangled fringe, Amy Tanner was smiling. And he decided that she was beautiful when she smiled.


	7. The Forgotten Creek

Jules spotted a familiar face in the crowd of parents who had gathered outside the school grounds. But Amy held him back, tugging at his wrists with both hands as she pulled him out of sight and around the next corner. "My dad," she whispered, casting a nervous glance back at the sandy haired man. "I don't wanna go with him."

Jules frowned thoughtfully. "Why not?"

"Just don't."

He paused for a moment, scratching his head, then looked up and beamed. "Come on, then."

Laughing with excitement at their barely licit escape, the pair ran single file around the main school building, and gathered speed as soon as they reached the oval. By the time he collided with the back fence, Jules was laughing so hard that he could hardly draw breath.

"Dare," he said as his co-conspirator finally caught up.

"What?"

Amy's blank, slightly quizzical stare forced his mouth into a broad grin.

"There's a gap in the fence about halfway along," he told her. He'd found it on the first day, tucked behind a thick hedge whose leaves had scratched the skin of his arms. "We can sneak through there. I'll show you."

The same leaves cut shallow lines in the limbs of both children as they ducked behind it and sidestepped towards a narrow break in the timber. Amy flinched as one of the longer branches brushed against her face. "Are you all right?" asked Jules.

She nodded, giggling quietly.

They had to squeeze between two branches to get through the fence, and one of Amy's plaits came half undone on the way. But as soon as they were clear, Jules and Amy relished their own cleverness as they scurried up the shadowy lane that ran along the other side.

* * *

When Jules asked Amy Tanner if she'd ever seen this part of their neighbourhood before, she responded with a shake of her head. He hadn't known exactly what was behind the fence either, but there was a map of the school hanging in one of the main corridors.

The road was taking them in an Easterly direction past rows of straight-backed poplar trees and shallow layers of fallen leaves. It was novel enough to find such a barely tamed strip of wilderness so far into their immaculately kept city. As they looked about them, Jules wondered if it had always been so forgotten.

There were certainly signs of human influence in the space around him. The line of the trees was too straight to have been natural, and similarly geometric patterns appeared in the path and surrounding scrub. But a lot of what remained was slightly overgrown at the edges. Leaf litter had fallen where several tufts of grassy weeds were also claiming a share of territory.

_Our own secret garden_, Jules thought, remembering the book that one of his uncles had shown to him. But the sound of a creek running parallel to the school grounds delighted him even more.

He grinned at Amy, and scrambled down the rocky, leaf strewn bank. Someone had created this place, he realised, seeing the remarkably even masonry that sloped up either side. He wondered how long ago that had been, and whether the city's forgotten garden had been waiting just for them.

It was barely a trickle, but there was still a ribbon of water winding past their newly discovered track. Crouching at its edge, Jules picked up a dark brown, dinghy-shaped seed case that had been lying upon the ground. He placed it on the river's surface and watched it sail downstream.

"What's that?" Amy asked.

"Our ship," the boy replied. He curled his hands into circles and placed them over his left eye, like an ancient spyglass. Amy laughed out loud.

The snap of a twig made her jump. Her laughter was just as abruptly stopped by a tiny gasp of alarm. Jules turned his focus to the top of the slope, and his smile disappeared.

"Told you so, din't I?" Flanked by his usual pair of silent companions, Kurt Dobbin was already rolling up his sleeves. "You and me, we settle this now."

Rising to his feet, Jules found that he had tensed as well - ready at any moment to spring away like a startled rabbit.

This time their approach was far quicker than the last one had been. Jules ducked before he was even consciously aware that Kurt had swung a fist at him. One of the other boys grabbed his waist, but this time he managed to squirm away before the boy could gain a proper grip. Suddenly he felt the full weight of Kurt Dobbin slam into his back. But before he could steady himself, his hands and knees collided with solid earth.

And somebody screamed.

Spinning around, Jules Bashir kicked out hard at Kurt's chest, so that the older boy was flat on the ground beside him, coughing as his confused lungs struggled to remember how to take in air. But there was no time to worry about what harm he might have done. Jules sprang to his feet, and immediately saw what had been the cause of that cry.

"Amy!"

She was struggling wildly, tugged along by a thick-set man, and both of them were very nearly out of sight. Ignoring the grazes on his hands, knees and elbows, Jules shook himself clear of the two remaining bullies and raced madly forward in pursuit.

He was startled to see that Amy's captor had stopped. The stranger's head was small, his neck unnaturally thick, and the gleaming pink dome of his skull bore no trace of hair. The expression on his face was one of bewildered curiosity, but with the smallest hint of what looked like… amusement? Amy cried out again as his iron-tight grip pressed even harder on the bones of her arm.

"Let her go!" Jules shouted. The stranger let out a cruel, barking laugh. He shifted as though to turn away, still dragging his catch behind him.

With his body taut as a battering ram, and a flush of blood still hot beneath his face, Jules Bashir charged forward to cut him off. The man stepped first to one side, and then to the other, but the boy was determined to block every possible exit.

The kidnapper, whoever he was, snorted like an enraged bull. Pushing Amy roughly to the ground, he closed the distance between himself and Jules in two long strides. Now it was the boy's turn to scream, unable to contain the raw, throat tearing cry as the hand that had once held Amy wrapped around his upper arm.

Knocked onto the hard dirt path, Jules forced himself back into a standing position. A fist the size of his head sent him tumbling downhill almost to the river, where a second powerful blow connected painfully with his ribs. _At least he's going for me_, he thought, dimly aware that he could take _some_ comfort from the idea._If he goes for me, he won't hurt her_.

So he hauled himself back upright and staggered forward, already blind with rage and pain. And with every collision, his determination rose. Caught in a headlock, he bit down hard on the man's exposed arm. Even as his surroundings grew ever more hazy, the pain exploding in every part of him was met with a fierce resolve.

The more blows he received, the less his attacker would have for Amy.

And then, creeping into his awareness came the distant realisation that the attack itself had stopped. Either that, or he had lost the ability to know. But there was still that constricting pressure of an arm around his neck which already had him gasping for breath.

"Put the boy down," said a level voice. "And step away."

"Says who?" the man demanded, the sound of his words growing steadily dim.

"Says my phaser."

Jules fell to the ground on legs that were no longer able to hold him upright. He lay, panting in the dirt, distantly aware that his attacker was moving away. Somebody rushed to his side, and he let out a feeble protest as a hand pressed gently against the places where he was most bruised. "You're all right," his rescuer whispered. "You're going to be fine."

There was a shadow of a face, a feeling of his lightweight body being lifted from the ground, and the world slipped into darkness.


	8. The Dark Room

"Drink," commanded a rough edged voice. A thick liquid was forcing its way into his mouth. Jules resisted, choking. But the voice was determined. "No. Drink it."

Whatever he'd been given left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth, and suddenly he was almost too drowsy to open his eyes. But some of the pain he still felt soon faded to a distant ache. Fighting against the weight of his own eyelids, Jules forced them open just enough to allow him to see. But there was little for them to take in.

He was lying on a large bed, somewhere indoors, quite certain that he'd never seen this place before. A smell of recycled air brushed lightly against his senses, and the controls had been turned to a slightly warmer setting than what he was used to. He knew from the sound of breathing that there were others in the room with him, but whoever they were, they had dimmed the lights to almost nothing.

"Welcome back," said a second voice, deep, slow, and instantly familiar. Jules felt a surge of terror. He jerked away, and grimaced as a sharp flash of pain dug into the side of his ribcage.

"Careful," the woman scolded, but her hidden companion gave no sign of having even noticed.

"You know," he continued. "When I first came to your world, Una here had a pet kitten. It was the messiest, straggliest ball of black you ever did see, with the strangest green eyes around. And barely the size of what my hand is now. But boy, could that thing spit. And hiss. And _fight_. Used ter scare the neighbours' dog silly. You remember that, Una, don't you?"

"Badin," hissed the first voice, with a slight nasal twang.

A soft chuckle found its way through the darkness. "It was some cat, I tell you. May've been small, but that little furball had _spirit_."

"Badin!"

"What?" One of the nearby shadows moved, and Jules saw the outline of a head and shoulders framed by slender wisps of hair. Although it was too dark to make out any colours, he knew without a doubt that Badin's skin was the colour of ivy leaves.

And the other voice could only have been Una's. "I still say we oughter find 'im a doctor."

"No," said the alien. "We can't get more people involved. I took enough of a risk even coming to you."

"What about… Amy?" croaked Jules, his voice so unsteady it was barely a breath.

There was a pause, followed by a series of harsh whispers. "Shh," the woman soothed. "Don't fret yerself about 'er."

But her words only made Jules still more anxious. "What about Amy?"

"She's fine," replied Badin. "She's the one what led us to you. Along with that other kid. Keith? Ken?"

_Kurt_? It hurt his head to think too hard, and exhausted what little energy he could still muster. But he could not avoid the paradox of it all._Kurt Dobbin helped them rescue me_?

"That was very brave, wot you did," Una was saying, and Jules realised that he'd already been drifting into sleep. He concentrated hard, and forced himself to stay alert.

"Either that," her green skinned companion agreed. "Or very stupid."

He sat on a specially placed chair at one side of the bed. Even in the dim lighting, Jules saw that the line of his mouth was almost severely tight.

"Now listen to me, kid. I've something to tell you, and I need to know that you're listening."

Jules nodded as much as his aching head would allow, and Badin returned the gesture as though in acknowledgement.

"Amy's in danger," he continued. "From some very bad people. Whatever happens, it's important that you don't tell anyone about today._Very_ important, you understand?"

Jules watched him carefully. "Why?"

"Because I can't keep Amy safe if you tell," the old man explained. "Just promise me that you never will."

His final reserves of energy all but spent, Jules focused hard on all that the old man had told him. _Safe_? _From what_? Images of the pink-faced hairless stranger, Kurt Dobbin, and even Amy's father rose from the depths of his mind like a trio of cautionary ghosts.

"I can keep a secret," he decided, finally.

His rescuer smiled, teeth gleaming even in the dark, and patted him lightly on the head. "Good boy."


	9. Homecoming

With all but his deepest bruises patched up as well as Una could manage, Jules was determined not to let anyone see the pain in each unsteady step.

_For Amy_, he told himself, and wondered for a brief, uneasy moment why she had not come to see him. But when Badin transported him to within a block of his own home, he discovered that he wanted nothing more than to get back there.

"Jules?" his mother called as the door slid closed behind him. "Is that you?"

He answered by trudging into the dining room, where Amsha Bashir was already laying out plates. "Are you hungry?"

He shook his head, unwilling to talk, impossibly tired, and certain that he was close to tears. Mother stopped when she saw his face, and set down all that remained in her hands. But he shied away from her approach, unable to bear the sight of those wide, dark eyes. "Jules!" she called - too late - as he raced from view.

* * *

As soon as he was alone, the boy dived for the safety and comfort of his bed. He lay face down, crying to the darkness until a large, round section of his pillow was soaked in pools of salt water. There was a soft tap on the door, and someone calling his name. But he ignored them both. His mother could enter at any time if she really wanted, but he wasn't sure why she would hesitate.

Rolling to one side, he was greeted by the far more welcome sight of his stuffed toy bear staring back at him. At least the touch of Kukalaka's soft brown fur was offering some comfort. Exhausted, wretched, and already desperately drowsy, he gathered the bear to him and toyed with one of its ears. "Hi," he whispered, grateful to find that his eyelids had started to droop.

His world was slowing down, dusky brown eyes closing steadily until even the smell of replicated curry drifting from the kitchen was not enough to drive away the fog of sleep.

* * *

He awoke to the sound of his parents' voices rising and falling in the bedroom next door. Much of what they said was muffled; at first their words were fuzzy and unclear. But with his return to awareness, at least some part of it took on a shape that he could understand.

Curling tightly around Kukalaka, Jules kept his eyes closed, and listened.

"How can we possibly tell for sure," his mother was saying. "What about side effects, Richard? People say there can be…"

"Don't." Father cut her off with a sharp reply.

"But if something is _truly_ wrong. Can't you see what that would mean?"

"I know exactly what that would mean," snapped Father. "But this isn't what's happening."

There was a long pause, but Jules could tell that it wasn't a happy one. He thought of the casing of the butterfly pupa, and of the creature growing within its dark shell. Eyes still closed, he scowled, and squirmed beneath the covers. Then he pictured Amy Tanner's face, sunlight playing on her tangled strands of dusty blonde hair.

_Amy_. Suddenly his eyes snapped open. Knocked from his place, Kukalaka tumbled to the floor. Jules scrambled out of bed, ignoring the dull ache at his side, and barely remembered to gather something warm to wrap over his loose fitting pyjamas.

_Where'd these come from anyway_? he asked himself before deciding that it didn't really matter. As likely as not, his mother or father had swapped them for his daytime clothes while he still slept. He felt a momentary flash of guilt, that he had not told them anything, but then he paused to consider. What would happen if he did?

_Mother and Father will almost certainly stop you_, he thought. _They'll probably want to call the Metropolitan Security Force. Either way, they won't let you help Amy_.

His mind raced, ideas crowding in so quickly that he barely had a chance to focus on one before another jostled it aside. Why _had_ Badin been so keen to be rid of him? And if Amy really was as safe and well as he'd said, then where _was_ she? And why hadn't Jules seen her since their encounter with the bald-headed stranger?

And when he thought about it, the stranger could have beamed away at any time, taking Amy with him. It made no sense that he had stayed.

"Torch," Jules whispered fiercely, tossing one into a brownish yellow carry bag. "Spare clothes. Blanket. City map." Acting on impulse, he even lifted Kukalaka from where he'd fallen and tucked him into a corner. He wasn't at all certain what particular use the teddy bear would be, but it just felt wrong to leave him behind.

His bedroom door whooshed open, but it sounded as though his parents were still too busy arguing to notice the noise. With his slightly frayed travel bag slung diagonally over one shoulder, he snuck into the hallway and tiptoed barefoot along the carpet.

His stomach grumbled as he passed the dining room. But he was close to certain that the distinctive whirr of the replicator would alert Mother and Father to his attempted escape. _We can stop for food along the way. Somewhere_, he promised himself. Until then, the safety of his friends was far more important than the plaintive call of his own stomach.

"Bye," he whispered, and noted that his parents had finally stopped arguing. Quietly, careful that not even the slapping of his own feet should reach their ears, he slipped through the door and turned to face the night.


	10. In the Cold Embrace of Ghosts

Even with the danger that he knew would be waiting for him, Jules soon realised that darting along the fog-touched pavements was surprisingly exhilarating. He felt as if he was on a mission, an adventure - with nothing to interrupt his progress save for the occasional nightly wanderings of the neighbourhood cats. The icy caress of the breeze made his heart beat still faster, and he was hardly able to hold back a soft, ecstatic giggle.

It did not take long for him to wish that he'd thought to don some shoes before leaving. His feet were numb, rendered almost bloodless from the cold. But he pressed forward despite the soft discomfort of water soaking into the hem of his trousers.

Fog hung heavily all around him, reminding him of the spectres that boys at his old school used to delight in taunting him about. The Old Man of the Garden, who would lure unsuspecting children into his haunted Gazebo and feed them to his seven waiting hounds. Or Hollow Djinni, who would sneak up on them unawares and grab them from behind with her icy claws…

_But you don't believe in ghosts, remember_?_ You never really did_. Shivering, he wrapped his jacket around himself and fought to calm the chattering of his teeth.

"Oi. Bashir."

Startled, Jules' feet very nearly propelled him from the ground. Pinpointing the location of this unexpected voice, he soon discovered a grey-tinted Human boy crouched behind the nearest fence.

Jules gasped, and took an immediate, involuntary step backward. Kurt Dobbin?

"What're you doing here?" the older boy whispered, his voice soft and urgent.

"N-nothing," answered Jules with a stammer he thought he'd left far behind him. Already his arms were wrapped protectively around his elbows.

"You running away?"

The only answer from Jules Bashir was a dumbfounded stare. But he made no move in either direction.

Kurt stepped out from behind the fence. "Saw you comin' up the street." He nodded at the house behind him. "That's my place right there."

Silence.

"I followed those men," Kurt continued. "They took your friend to the school."

Jules blinked. "Why?"

"Dunno," was Kurt's response. He glanced back at the sound of someone calling his name. "I gotta get in."

A door opened, and a tall, spindly shadow emerged from within. "Where you at, Kurt Dobbin? Get back 'ere! Now!" The shadow paused, its gaze sweeping from left to right. "Who you talkin' to?"

Taking this as his cue, Jules started to back away. "Thanks." But Kurt's pale face had already hardened once more.

"Whatever. Just don't forget - you're dead if you let this get around."

* * *

Gems of wet dew clung sparkling to every blade of grass, soaking even further into the young boy's clothing. Moonlight sifting through the fog created eerie dancing ghosts to haunt his imagination. _Just like Hollow Djinni_. And even what little breeze did amble past was stiff enough to chill his bones.

Jules shivered again, wrapping slender arms around his chest as somewhere far away, an owl moaned.

And from the opposite direction came a long, high pitched scream.

His feet felt like they were cased in blocks of ice, but Jules barely cared. He raced forward to where the three lonely figures stood in a cluster by the hedgerows. Neither one seemed to notice his approach, and he stuck close to the border of the school oval, hoping with every breath in his body that it would stay that way. Even from a distance, through the wispy strands of fog, it was easy to see that one of these faraway shapes was so much shorter than the others.

_Amy_. He clenched his jaw hard against his top teeth, determined to be as silent as a cat, and fixed his gaze upon the three moonlit shadows.

_Leave her alone_!


	11. Night on the Oval

Amy struggled, filtered moonlight glinting on a line of tears running down each cheek. "Why'd we bring the girl here?" hissed the taller, bald-headed man. "Wouldn't it of been easier if yer'd just done away with her from the start?"

His companion sneered. "Because, my short sighted friend. I still need to know exactly how much her Daddy Dearest told her."

"An' wot 'bout the uvver one? You just make him all better an' send him on his way? You in't very good at this, are you, Badin Fen?"

With both green-tinted hands clasped around Amy's upper arms, the shorter of the two men stepped forward and dragged her with him like a weighted sack. "Say that again?" he whispered in a voice that gave Jules chills. The other man turned away slightly, swallowing hard.

Fighting to silence each outward breath, Jules snuck around a line of small trees that rimmed the oval. His foot brushed against something hard and smooth, and he stifled a strangled cry, gritting his teeth against the sharp and sudden pain. With one hand rubbing his toes - until the shock of it had dulled a fraction - he scowled angrily at the offending rock.

But then he turned back to Amy's captors, his mind racing. There had to be _something_…

"Oh yes," taunted Badin. "The great Jonah Ratchett. Very bold indeed when it comes to beating seven year olds."

"You hired me to bring the girl to you, an' that's wot I did."

"Then consider this, Ratchett," Badin continued. "There's no profit in collateral damage. Kids have parents, and parents have an annoying tendency to make a fuss. Keep it all as simple as you can, all anyone will ever know is that once upon a time, there used to be one more girl round this part of town."

Amy flinched away from his leering smile as, letting go of her right arm, Badin reached for something at his hip. Light flashed on a metal surface. And a cold shock surged all the way down Jules' back as he recognised the slender, curving form of a high-powered energy weapon.

Acting on a flash of inspiration, Jules dropped into a crouch and snatched up the stone that had lain so innocently in his path. His muscles overtook his thoughts as he hurled it forward with all the force he could muster. Amy squealed sharply, but now the shorter man's weapon was knocked from his hand.

A string of curses escaped through Badin's mouth, ending in a cry of unexpected pain. "You little…" Jules ducked quickly out of sight. He pressed his back against the trunk of a tree and screwed his eyes tightly closed, panting hard. His head was pounding just as fiercely as his heart, but he hardly dared to credit what he'd seen himself do.

Something gave way behind him - the loud sharp _crack_ of a twig breaking beneath someone's feet. And then there were footsteps tearing across level ground. They were getting louder. Coming closer.

Straight for the young boy's hiding place.


	12. Sanctuary

Jules opened his eyes. These footfalls were too light by far to have come from either of the two men.

He caught Amy in his arms as she broke through the narrow space. She resisted, pushing so madly against his face and shoulders that he struggled to remain upright. She opened her mouth as if to scream, but stopped - seeing him - and took a step back with her chest heaving and mouth still open. Her blue eyes sparkled darkly in the dim, silver-blue light.

The boy was first to be free of his startled trance. "The fence," he whispered urgently. The gap he'd discovered was cosy even for a child - much too small for a man of Ratchett's size.

Amy nodded.

Grabbing his friend's hand so tightly that she gasped, Jules tugged her away just as the flushed, sweating visage of Jonah Ratchett appeared from around the bushes. Amy squealed. There was a loud burst of energy, and Jules smelt burning leaves.

He heard Ratchett shout something that was more like an infuriated growl than any kind of words. The large man levelled his weapon to fire again, and Jules hastened to follow Amy Tanner through the narrow space.

* * *

There was no time to catch their breath. Somehow, some way, those men would soon come after them. But at least they would now have to run all the way around the front of the school to get there. The protruding twigs on the other side of the fence bit hard into Jules' feet, but he struggled forward with Amy following mutely behind him. They were careful to keep to the shadows, but Jules knew as though by instinct that they would not be safe for much longer. Not unless they kept moving.

Stumbling on all fours up the opposite side of the creek, Jules and Amy found the darkest place they could to sit and gather their strength. Amy's hair was even more wild and tangled than usual, and Jules saw that she had dark bruises running along the length of both arms. She shivered as she looked around her.

"Are you cold?" Jules asked.

With her teeth rattling noisily, Amy shook her head.

"Here." Reaching deep into his carry bag, Jules pulled out his thick woollen polymer jacket.

"Will they find us?" Amy whispered once she had wrapped it around her shoulders. Jules shuddered.

"Don't know," he replied truthfully.

He looked about him, listening for the sound of approaching footsteps, or perhaps the soft musical tones of a transporter beam. "We could go to the park," he suggested, finishing a thought that had been forming for some time at the back of his mind.

"Wait," said Amy. "I have to tell you something."

"What?"

"It's about my dad…" She paused, and looked away.

"The man at the park?" prompted Jules.

She nodded. "Except that he isn't my dad."

Jules stared at her, and frowned. _What do you mean_? he wanted to ask. But there was still too much danger for them to be caught in conversation. Rising quickly, he lifted her to her feet. "Come on."

* * *

They raced across roads and around alleyways, taking care not to venture onto any of the newer, more open streets. In the early hours of the morning, their park was as dim and cloudy as the rest of the city, but it was easy enough to spot their favourite tree.

Slinging his bag over a lower branch, Jules clasped it in both hands, and looked up. "Think you can reach the top?" he asked.

Amy looked nervous, but she nodded.

At least the branches felt reasonably sturdy - enough to support the weight of two skinny children. Leaves rustled and brushed against their shoulders, wet and cold in the early morning fog. Some of the smaller, browner ones caught in their hair, but they didn't stop to brush them away. Finally, after much effort, they reached their highest possible refuge. Two thirds of the way up the tree, Jules guessed, was one of the last branches that could hold both slender frames.

"There," Jules said. "Now even if anyone did find us here, they'd be too big to follow us up."

"They could still shoot us down," Amy pointed out, her voice still little more than a tense whisper.

_True_, thought Jules. He'd already considered that, but didn't say so. Instead he decided to ask her what was still on his mind. "How come you said your dad isn't really your dad?"

"He's just not." Amy paused, chewing on her bottom lip. "My real dad's been gone ever since I was little. It's just, one day, there was Dorian. He told me that Dad was in trouble. He was taking me somewhere safe, and we would be just like family."

"Is that why those men wanted you?"

Amy nodded. Nervously, she reached forward and brushed a hand against her companion's cheek. Concern made her eyes even brighter than ever. "Does it still hurt?"

"No." The boy gazed through the branches, to where a seemingly endless city rose from the fog like an emerging demon, and hoped that Amy would not see the lie in his eyes.

She sighed. "Sorry."

This caught Jules by surprise. "Why?" he asked, turning sidelong towards her.

"I didn't mean to hurt anyone." Her head was bowed, her eyes almost concealed by long lashes.

_But you didn't hurt me_, Jules longed to protest. _It was Jonah Ratchett did that_. He quickly discovered that he was as mute as Kukalaka. He stared, round eyed, still painfully unsure of what he ought to say, until he finally blurted out, "We'll always be friends, right?"

A slight frown crossed Amy's face. "No matter what?" she ventured. "Even if we aren't together any more?"

Jules nodded emphatically. "We could spit on it if you like."

"_What_ on it?" Amy gaped at him, but at least her frown had vanished.

"Haven't you heard? In the old days, when people made a promise, they used to say 'I promise', and then they would spit on their hands."

"Why?"

"It showed that they would always keep it," replied Jules, suddenly unbearably excited. So much in the universe was never certain, but at least their vow could be. "Come on - it'll be easy."

With a tiny shrug, Amy held her hand up towards her face. "I spit here?"

"That's right."

The saliva made a soft pattering sound on their palms. "Now we shake hands," said Jules. "It's traditional."

"What's 'traditional'?"

"That means you have to do it, because it's the way things are done."

Pressed together, their hands felt slightly gooey. "Friends for life," whispered Jules.

"Friends for life," agreed Amy.

"No matter what," they promised in unison.


	13. A Second Chance

Dawn came early to the park, with the face of Sol creeping slowly over the horizon, pale and sharp-edged through the haze. With his arm still locked tightly around Amy's shoulders, Jules forced each painfully frozen joint to straighten and squinted against the cold light of sunrise.

The morning found both children huddled, trembling, at the top of their tree. Amy Tanner had slid free of his jacket before wrapping it tightly around them both. Tentatively flexing the fingers of his right hand, Jules wished in secret that he could have found them a better place to spend the night. His limbs had lost all sensation, save for the pain of cold, and the aches of the previous afternoon had returned to haunt him many times over.

With a sudden gasp, Amy jerked upright. She grabbed his forearm, and Jules' heart began to pound anew. Something was shifting behind the nearby shrubs. Whatever was making that noise, it was as large as a grown man. And the dawn mist had already receded enough to allow a glimpse of ivy-green skin.

Badin's colouring had provided him with ideal cover, but now he was creeping slowly into the open, concentrating on something small and square that flickered brightly in both his hands. "Hate to admit it," he muttered. His voice was quiet, but carried far even against the first piping calls of the dawn chorus. "But that bastard Ratchett was right. I should of taken care of _you_ two, straight off."

Pacing across the lawn in a purposeful arc, he raised his voice - clearly this next part was meant to be heard. "Well - there's something to be said for second chances."

"I suppose you think I enjoy this," he despaired. "But I'm not like Ratchett and the others. People trust me to carry out a certain… task. And I do. But why did you have to come back? All I needed was the girl."

Still huddled in the topmost branches, Jules pulled his legs up against his chest and hid himself as best he could behind the leaves. He felt Amy cling still tighter to him, and squeezed her back - hoping this gesture would be of greater comfort for her than it was for him.

"I never did tell you what happened to that kitten of mine," Badin Fen continued over the soft bleep of a scanning device. "Did I? See, what happened was, that snarling, hissing kitten grew up. And turned into a snarling, hissing cat. But the trouble was Una just couldn't help feeding the stupid thing, so it just kept coming back and back again. Never learnt when to leave _well enough alone_. Know what I mean?"

He paused, cocking his head as if to listen. Jules realised with a shock that his teeth had begun to chatter. He bit down hard upon his own tongue. It would not be long before the man's tricorder located them both, and now was not the time to be making noise.

"So what happened then was," Badin kept on as though addressing the surrounding trees. "One day I got so fed up of that cat always under my feet, I scorched its hide with my disruptor, and I chucked its body in the river. Gave me no choice, you see. And I swear, to this day, that thing hasn't ever once surfaced from the bottom of the Thames."

Already facing West - in the direction of their tree - he checked his scanner, and a quiet, lopsided smile crept up one side of his mouth. "Getting warmer, aren't I?"

Slowly and steadily, he raised something in his other hand. He moved it gradually upwards, following the tree trunk as a line of sight. Terror gripped Jules' heart like a fist as for a moment, their gazes locked.

"Gotcha."

Jules Bashir screwed his eyes so tightly closed that circles of pressure radiated outwards from the centre of his vision. There was a sharp buzz of light, followed by a grunt of expelled air and the sound of someone falling. He felt Amy tense beside him, and heard her cry out in horror. Then he gasped, once, twice, and discovered that he was sucking in great lungfuls of air as if he hadn't taken a breath in many hours.

And he felt the rough texture of bark through his trousers, and found himself trembling - but not from the cold. Finally, he dared to force his eyes to open.

The leaves whispered on a nearby shrub, and someone stepped into view, tucking a phaser back into his belt. It was a sandy-blonde Human, whose skin had paled in the chill of morning, but whose stride was long and confident. He stepped across the lawn, to where Badin Fen was stretched out on the grass. And he paused to pull down his snug-fitting black and gold jersey.

"He's Starfleet," Jules whispered, his voice hoarse.

As the man turned towards them, he offered a comforting smile. Jules suddenly realised he was looking into the unmistakable grey eyes of Amy Tanner's father.


	14. The Boy and the Lieutenant

The chair he sat on was so large that it locked his knees into a forward position, and his feet dangled a good fifty centimetres above the ground. It was a spacious room, but close to bare, with a desk fixed to the floor at its centre, and a row of computer screens installed along the right-hand wall. Two straight-backed potted plants sat on opposite corners, with a slender, yellow-brown sculpture placed almost perfectly between them.

It was from Vulcan, Lieutenant Dorian Tanner had said. Jules was fascinated by the flowing, organic curves. "Like Miss Tolok?" he'd asked in response.

The Lieutenant smiled.

Now he watched silently as young Jules gobbled his way through a bowl of thick, savoury broth. He saw mushrooms, and carrots, and tasted hot salted beef, which he barely gave enough time to cool. He shovelled the soup into his mouth as if he had not seen food in a month and was unlikely to see it again for at least another.

"You're certainly hungry, then," Lieutenant Tanner commented.

Jules Bashir nodded between mouthfuls. "Yes, Sir."

"Well, be sure you don't choke on that."

"I w'll, Shir," the boy mumbled through his spoon.

Smiling quietly, the man who both was and wasn't Amy's father stroked a mug he held in his own hands. "What's that?" Jules remembered asking him, just a few minutes earlier.

"It's called Tarkalean Tea," had been the reply. "If you're good, I might even let you try some."

The boy scraped up the last of his breakfast and wiped what remained from the side of his mouth. He tried - although without much success - to stifle a yawn. He felt full, and warm, and tired beyond measure. But he did his best to rub the fatigue from his eyes.

It had been an hour since the others had joined them in the park, all in their matching colourful uniforms. They'd taken Badin away, asked endless questions of the two startled and bewildered children, and then transported them both to their bright, although slightly labyrinthine headquarters. That was when Dorian Tanner had explained that he needed to talk to Jules alone.

"Now," said the Starfleet man. "How about we start at the beginning?"

"It was supposed to be a secret," Jules told him.

Lieutenant Tanner ran a hand through what remained of his hair. "Did Badin Fen tell you that?"

"I _can_ keep a secret." The boy was insistent.

"I know you can, Jules. You're a good boy, and I don't think Amy could have asked for a better friend. But sometimes it's important to let people know when something's going on."

And Jules knew, as if by some extra sense, that Dorian Tanner was telling the truth. Dorian Tanner could be trusted.

He hesitated, biting his lower lip. At first the story was slow to emerge, and he stumbled a little through the beginning. But before long it was tumbling out as though of its own accord. He told the Lieutenant about first meeting Amy, and about the plans of Kurt Dobbin and his friends. He told him about the peculiar feeling he'd had that someone was watching them in the park. And about the red-faced man who'd come to take Amy, and how this man had beaten him, and he'd allowed it to happen.

With every word, Jules discovered that he was drawing his legs up tight against his chest, wrapping his arms around them and hiding the lower half of his face behind his knees.

"But I wasn't weak," he insisted, tears stinging the base of his eyes. "I did it for Amy."

Prompted a little by occasional questions, he told the Lieutenant about the promise he'd made, not to tell of anything that had happened, and about how he'd woken in the middle of the night and snuck away to find Amy and her kidnappers. He revealed what he'd heard there, that Badin Fen had hired Jonah Ratchett to make sure that Amy was brought his way. And he finished with how he and Amy had run to the park because it was the place they both knew best, and how they'd hidden in their favourite tree until morning.

But he didn't say a word about the vow they had made. Some things, he thought to himself. _Some_ things ought to remain a secret.

A door opened at the farthest corner of the room. Jules turned towards it, just in time to see a tall woman enter, her straight black hair sculpted into an even bob above her eyes. But it took him another second to recognise Miss Tolok, tugging at the hem of a gold Starfleet uniform in the same way that he'd seen Lieutenant Tanner do.

Two more people came through the door behind her. Jules swallowed dryly at the sight of his parents standing awkwardly by the doorway. His mother had tears in her eyes, and even Father was biting back an urge to cry.

"Oh, Jules," said Mother. She crossed the floor and knelt in front of him. Then she pulled him in close, resting her cheek against his hair. This time when she hugged him, he did not resist. "My poor boy. Why didn't you _say_?"

"I'm sorry." Jules' tiny voice was muffled by her shoulders.

Releasing him, she turned expectantly towards the yellow-clad Security Lieutenant.

Dorian Tanner cleared his throat. "Mr Bashir. Mrs Bashir," he said, nodding to each in turn. "I believe we have all the information we need from your son. I'll let you know if there is anything else."

But the boy had not yet finished. "What's going to happen to Amy?" he asked.

"She will be perfectly safe," Miss Tolok assured him, speaking from behind.

"But what's going to _happen _to her?" Jules' voice rose with barely caged frustration.

"Well…" Lieutenant Tanner and Miss Tolok exchanged glances. "She'll most likely have to move to a different city. A different school…"

"Can I come too?"

"Jules," his father admonished him.

"I think your parents would miss you," Dorian Tanner commented, eyebrows raised.

Jules' shoulders slumped, like a deflating balloon. His voice was suddenly quiet. "I can't even visit her, can I?"

After a moment's hesitation, the Lieutenant shook his head.

But even then, some small hope flickered like a candle in the darkness. "Can I at least say goodbye?"

He sent a silent plea to his mother. She passed it along to Lieutenant Tanner, who sighed. "All right. I don't see why not."


	15. A Farewell

_My Journal. By Jules B._

_I don't know what it will mean to say goodbye to Amy. I haven't been back at school very long, but it's already different without her. I thought about that a lot, and I think that maybe - perhaps - she might have been my best, best friend._

* * *

There was something resting on the palm of Amy's hand - the dark, hollow shell of a butterfly chrysalis.

"I found it on the tree," she told him. "The butterfly's all grown up. I bet he's already off having adventures."

Instead of looking down as she passed it to him, Jules found his gaze lingering on the way that her fringe fell over her pale blue eyes. "How do you know it's a he?"

She shrugged. "I don't."

"Amy." It was yet another Starfleet woman - slightly shorter than Miss Tolok, and her uniform was a little more tight-fitting than most of the others they'd seen on that day. She called from in front of a softly chirruping console. "It's time."

Sadness passed across Amy's face, and Jules was sure that her expression was reflected in his own. Leaning forward, she took his hand. "Bye."

He wanted to say something poetic, or at the very least, something meaningful. People in books and holonovels always seemed to know just the right words. But all he could do was to look down at where their hands still touched, and barely whisper, "Bye."

Amy sighed, and got to her feet, and then her touch was gone. "Ready?" asked the woman. Reluctant but resolved, Amy Tanner nodded.

"Let's go, then."

She took the girl's hand as they walked together to the transporter pad. Jules pushed himself upright and watched. Directing Amy to stand beside her, the Starfleet woman leaned across and whispered in her ear. "Don't worry. I'm sure you'll find new friends."

But Jules Bashir was far slower to move. He skirted around the edge of the control panel, careful to avoid the scrutiny of the young man who worked the controls, and kept his gaze tightly locked with his friend's. Neither of them looked away, even as the woman called, "Energise," and she and Amy shimmered out of sight.

* * *

**Deep Space Nine, 2376**

"And you never found out what happened after that?" asked Ezri. She had placed her head onto Julian's shoulder, listening in silence as he told his tale. Now she finally looked up. "Or why she had to leave in the first place?"

"Apparently her father - her _real _father, that is - had been in prison for three or four years at least. He was some kind of small time crook. Smuggler or something, I'm not sure exactly what. But he'd been informing on the Orion Syndicate to get his sentence reduced, and they thought he might also have been passing on some of his secrets to Amy. They would have gone after her either way, but of course that meant she was in extra danger. Dorian Tanner's retired as far as I know. And Kurt - Commander Dobbin, I should say - well he was killed in the war. As for the others, I have no idea. I was just too young to stay in touch."

"You could find out what happened to her," Ezri suggested. "There has to be a record somewhere."

Julian shook his head. "'Tanner' wasn't even her real name. I'm not even that sure about 'Amy'."

"But you could try…" she persisted. "I think you should."

"Not this time, Counsellor. Even if there was anything to find, I'm not all that sure I'd want to see it." Quietly thoughtful, Julian looked down at his right palm. "Strange… We honestly thought we'd be friends forever."

"Well," said Ezri. Straddling his thighs, she wrapped the already tangled sheets around them both - like a cacoon, Julian thought - just before she kissed him on the mouth. "We could make the same promise right now. But if you expect me to spit on my hand, you've got another thing coming."

Julian grinned. "Come here, you." And his quarters soon filled with the sound of their laughter.


End file.
